


Floodgate

by BeyondTheClouds777



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: (brief) - Freeform, Abusive Parents, Cuddling & Snuggling, Don't copy to another site, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Future Fic, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Living Together, Past Child Abuse, Platonic Cuddling, Protective Hinata Shouyou, QPR KageHina, Queerplatonic Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio, Stress-Vomiting, hinata can and will throw down, kags is hurting and hina does everything he can, they're in between high school and college rn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:55:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22664365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeyondTheClouds777/pseuds/BeyondTheClouds777
Summary: Tobio’s parents aren’t good people. When coming to visit out of the blue, they don’t expect someone to stand defiantly between them and their son.
Relationships: Established Queerplatonic Relationship - Relationship, Hinata Shouyou & Kageyama Tobio, queerplatonic relationships - Relationship
Comments: 18
Kudos: 266





	Floodgate

Years of knowing Tobio have given Shouyou insight to each and every one of his social cues. What used to be a mystery as big and intimidating as algebra 2 in high school is now something Shouyou is familiar with. 

When Tobio has a good day—when his sets go exactly how he wants them to, when work is stress-free and the hours fly by—he comes home light on his feet, with a faint smile that only those who know him best can see. 

When Tobio has a bad day—when his boss is upset with him, when he flubs his sets—it’s the opposite, and he comes home looking like he’s going to punch a wall with frustration set deep in the lines on his face. Shouyou tries making it up to him with blanket forts and coffee and stupid romcoms, but there isn’t a lot he can do when Tobio is in this mood. Usually they just hope tomorrow is a better day. 

When he’s sad, he usually does little more than hug Shouyou. When he’s excited or otherwise over the moon, Shouyou can usually catch him singing in the shower or while he’s making dinner. He doesn’t interrupt him or tease him, because he doesn’t want Tobio to stop if he’s embarrassed or thinks Shouyou’s annoyed. 

There are in-between mannerisms, too. In-between moods. Shouyou would be hard pressed to list all of them off the top of his head, but he recognizes every single one of them and knows how to deal with them. And it’s a two way street between him and Tobio. Tobio knows exactly how to help Shouyou through all his ups and downs and middle-of-the-roads, too. 

Except Tobio comes home from work one day in a mood that, for the first time in forever, Shouyou can’t decipher. It looks almost…  _ sad,  _ but sad doesn’t feel like enough. Anxious is another one that pops into his head. Along with stressed, maybe? Maybe even a little scared. Tobio is fiddling with his sleeves, and he fumbles a little while getting the door shut behind him. And he locks the door, deadbolt and handle, a little too quickly. Almost like he’s trying to keep something out.

And,  _ fiddling.  _ Tobio doesn’t… he doesn’t  _ fiddle _ like that. He taps his knee absentmindedly when deep in thought and sometimes he’ll twirl a pencil or tap it against the nearest surface, but he doesn’t  _ fiddle.  _ Shouyou is always the one who fiddles and fidgets anxiously, not Tobio. And he doesn’t tremble when locking the door. And he doesn’t keep his head down.

Shouyou hops off the couch. It’s like Tobio doesn’t know he’s there. He waits and watches to see if Tobio will move first, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t even let go of the doorknob. 

“Tobes?” 

Tobio starts hard, whipping around to meet his eyes. The fear in his gaze locks Shouyou’s joints in place. He’s never going to forget that look, and he never wants to see it again. 

Tobio snaps out of it quickly. “Sorry,” he amends, and shakes his head in a way that reminds Shouyou of someone clearing an etch-a-sketch, like he could somehow erase whatever was on his mind a second ago. Like he could somehow take back that horrible look on his face. “Sorry, I didn’t—I didn’t know you were home.” 

Shouyou can’t shake it. He feels like someone just injected him with liquid nitrogen. “Are you… Are you okay? What was that?” 

“Nothing,” Tobio says, letting his hand fall down to his side. “Seriously, dumbass, it was nothing. Forget it.”

‘Forget it’ has never been such a daunting task, and Shouyou already knows that Tobio is asking something impossible of him. But still, even if Shouyou can’t read  _ exactly  _ what’s wrong, he knows something is, and all that matters now is that Tobio isn’t as okay as he’d have Shouyou believe. And he can work with that. He’ll do what he always does: help where he can and let Tobio tell him in his own time. He always does eventually.

Shouyou nods. “Alright. It’s my job to get dinner tonight,” and saying this, he snatches up his set of house keys and his wallet. “I’ll run out and grab something. What do you feel like having?” 

Tobio blinks, confused. “I… I thought it was my night…?” 

“It  _ was,”  _ Shouyou affirms, tossing him a grin, “buuuuuuut I made the executive decision of getting it myself so  _ you  _ can stay home and take a shower! And besides, you don’t like going out again after you’ve worked so you really don’t lose at all here!” 

Tobio keeps staring at him. “Shouyou, I… I don’t want you to do that—” 

“Seriously, take me up on it, this is probably the only time I’m doing this for you while you’re physically capable.” 

“No, Shou, I mean—” 

Shou. Tobio calls him that on special occasions, specifically when Shouyou is sick or having a bad day or being particularly stubborn about this or that issue. Tobio fumbles and grits his teeth, and Shouyou’s smile falls. 

“Nevermind, it’s stupid,” Tobio says, more to himself than to Shouyou. He kicks off his shoes and starts toward the hallway with his head down. “Do whatever you want, I don’t care.” 

“Wait, no—” Shouyou catches him by the wrist, pulling him to a halt. He doesn’t miss Tobio’s flinch, but he doesn’t let go, either. “No, you wanted to say something, what is it?” 

“It’s  _ nothing,  _ Shouyou.” 

“I’m not that dense,” Shouyou snaps back with an equal bite. They don’t fight much nowadays, at least not like they did in high school, but he can easily see this escalating and really hopes his intuition is wrong. “You don’t have to tell me everything, but you can’t start saying something important and then ‘nevermind’ me. I want to know what you have to say.” 

“And I said to forget it.” 

“No, you said it was stupid. Don’t not tell me just because you think it’s stupid.” 

Tobio’s teeth snap together. His breaths rasp and rattle through them, and it’s such an unnerving sound that Shouyou almost (almost) yanks his hand away. But he holds fast. 

“I don’t want you to  _ go,”  _ Tobio eventually relents, “because I don’t want to be  _ alone.  _ Okay? Are you happy now?” 

Happy is the last thing Shouyou is. Tobio isn’t—Tobio isn’t  _ like this,  _ he’s  _ never  _ like this. Shouyou can’t tell which is most prevalent: Tobio’s annoyance, Tobio’s fear, or that croak in the back of Tobio’s voice that speaks of thinly-veiled tears. Shouyou’s grip had been too tight before to notice, but Tobio’s still shaking.

“Do you want to come with me?” Shouyou asks. “You can come with me if you want. I just thought maybe you’d want some time alone to cool off and take a shower and stuff, but—yeah, if you want to go with me you can. We can make a night out of it, even! Go out for dinner somewhere and get coffee afterwards. I heard it’s supposed to snow—there’s an ice rink opening downtown, too, I think! We could even go there? If you wanted! You don’t have to be alone, I don’t—” 

Tobio hugs him. It’s tight, it’s surprising, it isn’t planned out and Shouyou’s chest constricts with the gasp obstructing his throat, but it doesn’t take long to settle in. He hugs Tobio, too. 

“You could’ve just said you wanted to go with me, stupid.” 

“Yeah, yeah, okay. Sorry.” 

That’s another thing. Tobio doesn’t apologize like this, not for no-reason things that don’t matter. Shouyou doesn’t ask him about it, though.

He pulls away and grins. “I’ll buy dinner if you buy coffee. And do the dishes when we get back.” 

Tobio snorts. “Deal.” 

* * *

It ends up actually being an okay evening. Tobio squeezes Shouyou’s hand a little too tight, but that’s okay. It’s weird of him to be so clingy while out in a public place but Shouyou doesn’t mind it and besides, if it helps Tobio through whatever it is he’s so wound up about, then he really,  _ really  _ doesn’t mind. And he’d be lying if he said the physical contact wasn’t nice.

They eat dinner at one of their usual ramen stops (and it’s such a usual stop that the chef calls for their regular orders as soon as they walk through the door) and they take their time digging in, with Shouyou chatting like he always does and Tobio listening, interjecting here and there. And then they take a walk down the boulevard to their favorite coffee shop. Shouyou gets his black and Tobio orders what can only be described as a blended, iced sugar-bomb. 

“I still can’t believe you drink black coffee,” Tobio says, and it’s the most he’s said in a single sentence all evening. “It’s disgusting.” 

“It’s about to snow and you’re getting an  _ iced coffee,”  _ Shouyou shoots back.  _ “That’s  _ disgusting. What are you trying to prove?”

Tobio shrugs, which could mean anything. They get their coffees and head home. Tobio seems to be doing better after they’ve eaten and once they’re home to stay and the doors are locked (which Shouyou does, and doesn’t miss how Tobio’s shoulders slacken), but there’s still a noticeable edge about him. Or,  _ he’s  _ on edge about something. Shouyou still hasn’t figured out what that means or why. Or how to deal with it. 

Shouyou ends up in the kitchen one way or another and dries and stacks the dishes as Tobio washes. When the sink is empty and Shouyou casts aside the soaked hand towel, they put the dishes away together and turn out the lights on their way toward the bedroom. Tobio checks the front door (locked) while Shouyou checks the back door (also locked), and with that knowledge they’re ready to turn in. 

They usually leave the bedroom door open while they sleep to help improve airflow, but Tobio shuts and locks it tonight, and Shouyou doesn’t see it as something important enough to mention. 

When they’re in bed and under the blankets, with the lights turned off and the moonlight pale and gentle against the carpeted floor, the filters are off. They’ve had a lot of heartfelt conversations in this room, in this bed, faces inches away from each other. They’ve talked about their future, about their present, about what ‘their’ means, about work, about stress. Anything. Something about the darkness—something about the close intimacy and warmth—gives them a sense of safety and security. 

It’s now that Shouyou finally takes a chance, though not in the way he wants to. He  _ wants  _ to ask Tobio what’s wrong, he wants to ask him what’s really bothering him, but it doesn’t seem like the right thing to say. 

So instead, Shouyou asks, “Is there anything I can do?” 

In  _ hindsight,  _ it was a little out of nowhere and he probably shouldn’t have asked, but Tobio seems to understand. He sighs. 

“I don’t want to sound pathetic.” 

“You won’t,” Shouyou says. “Believe me, I know you better than I probably should. It’s kind of scary, actually, I don’t like it.” Tobio knocks their heads together hard enough to sting, but that’s all. “Anyway, yeah. I know you’re not pathetic. There’s nothing you can say that’ll change that, so. You’re stuck with me and my honesty.” 

“Oh no, for how long?” 

Shouyou shoves his shoulder. “But yeah, anyway. You’re alright. We survived being emotional, pubescent tenth-graders, we’ve got this.” 

Tobio chortles softly. “I guess so. Now we’re emotional adults.” 

“Adults with feelings.  _ Broke  _ adults with feelings.”

“Even better.” Tobio’s smile is evident in his voice, until it isn’t, and he sighs. “I… I know you don’t care, but I still feel kind of weird… asking.” 

“You’re right, I don’t care. What is it?” 

Tobio bites his lip. It’s hard to see his face, but he looks years younger, with a kind of uncertainty in his eyes that has no business being there. 

“I g—just—hold me, maybe? Y-You don’t have to, I—” 

Shouyou yanks him and squeezes him close. Tobio makes a weird little squeak sound that’s so bizarre that Shouyou doesn’t even  _ believe  _ he’d produced it, and when he  _ does,  _ he laughs and buries his face in Tobio’s hair. 

“We do this all the time, I don’t know why you’re being so weird about it now. Stupid.” 

_ “Because,” _ Tobio starts, voice somewhat muffled by Shouyou’s shirt, “I—” But then he stops, Shouyou feels him relax.  _ “Damn it,  _ what did I do to deserve you?” 

“You tossed to me,” Shouyou says.

Tobio’s laughter is breathless, and it sounds a little painful. “You’re so  _ stupid.”  _

“That’s the gist of it, though? You tossed to me because you believed in me, and I spiked it because I believed in you. That carries into just about everything else, doesn’t it?” 

“Volleyball?” 

“Well—okay  _ yes,  _ but, I mean trust. Trust, y’know? I trust you.” 

Tobio is quiet for a while, before his arms wrap around Shouyou’s waist. 

“Yeah. I trust you, too.”

Shouyou smiles even though he knows Tobio can’t see it. “I’m glad.”

A silence falls between them and engulfs every nook and cranny, gentle and sure. Shouyou closed his eyes a while ago, and on the backs of his eyelids he imagines him and Tobio as they were when they were younger, playing volleyball in highschool like it was the only thing in the world that mattered. And at the time, for them, it was. 

Nowadays, volleyball still matters, but they've found in each other what volleyball used to be. A passion. A drive. A reason to get up in the morning. A cherishment. A love. All that and multiplied many times over, because they're more important to each other now than volleyball ever was to them individually. 

Besides, part of what made volleyball so special in the first place was that they could play it with each other, even though they didn't realize it at the time. 

Tobio shifts a little awkwardly, and it strikes Shouyou as odd at first, because  _ he’s  _ the restless sleeper of the two of them, not Tobio (unless Tobio is having a nightmare, which has happened enough times for Shouyou to consider it, unfortunately). He does what he usually does when this happens, carding his fingers through Tobio’s hair and consciously taking deep breaths.

Except, it isn’t until another moment passes and Shouyou feels something warm and wet on his collar that he realizes it isn’t that simple. Tobio has nightmares, and he has bad days, and it’s not that he  _ doesn’t  _ cry, he just doesn’t cry like  _ this.  _ He’ll cry when he’s overwhelmed or otherwise stressed to the point of breaking, and he’ll go on long tangents while pulling his hair or digging the heels of his palms into his eyes, and he’ll let Shouyou hug him, but only after he’s gotten everything off his chest. It’s another one of their patterns. It’s just the way Tobio deals with stuff.

He hasn’t said anything. He’s barely said anything all day. And he’s crying now, and Shouyou can tell he’s awake, and that he’s trying to hide it. 

But, he hasn’t been able to hide things from Shouyou for a long time. And Shouyou couldn’t live with himself if he went on pretending like Tobio hid his tears successfully. 

Shouyou draws him in closer, burying his nose in his hair. “Hey. Are you okay?”

Tobio’s shoulders heave, and he grabs fistfuls of the back of Shouyou’s shirt, clutching him. “I’m sorry,” he rasps, in a voice so unlike him it may as well be a stranger’s. “I’m sorry, Shou, I—” 

“What are you apologizing for? It’s okay.” 

“It doesn’t—” Tobio struggles, and his breaths are so ragged that Shouyou is afraid he’ll strangle himself on them. “It doesn’t  _ feel  _ okay—” 

“It is, it’s going to be.” 

“B-But I can’t—I can’t  _ tell you,  _ I’m not ready to say it outloud, I—I-I  _ can’t—”  _ He chokes on a sob, gasps for breath, and Shouyou’s chest clenches. 

“You don’t have to tell me if you aren’t ready,” Shouyou promises, running a hand up and down his back and trying not to let his voice shake. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t scared. He’s seen Tobio cry and break down any number of times, but this is different. “Actually,  _ don’t _ tell me until you’re ready.” 

“B-But, I—” 

“Okay. Listen to me.” 

Shouyou reluctantly takes Tobio by the forearms and unwinds his arms from his waist. It’s hard to do, and it feels like Tobio locked his joints in place, but eventually he gets to a place where he can slide down and meet Tobio’s eyes straight-on. Tobio is startled enough that the tears stop (momentarily) and he’s able to breathe, and Shouyou takes this as his chance to squeeze his hands before cupping his face gently. The tears on his cheeks make Shouyou want to cry himself. 

“This thing that’s bothering you,” Shouyou says. Tobio tenses. “I know ‘bothering’ is probably too light of a word, but you know what I mean.”

Tobio clutches his wrist. His hands are clammy. He nods. 

“Is it going to hurt you?” Shouyou asks, though it’s more of a statement than a question, and it’s one that demands to be heard. “And I mean any sort of hurt. Mental, physical, emotional. Anything. If you don’t tell me right now, are you going to get hurt?” 

Tobio’s eyes widen a little, but Shouyou knows him well enough to know it’s just because he wasn’t expecting it. He thinks. 

“N-No.” 

“Okay.” Shouyou lets his thumbs wipe stray tears away. “If you don’t tell me right now, am I going to get hurt?” 

Tobio’s answer comes faster this time. “No.” 

“If you don’t tell me right now, is someone else going to get hurt?” 

“No.” 

“Are  _ we  _ going to get hurt?” 

“No.”

“Then you don’t need to tell me right now,” Shouyou says decidedly, and tries for a smile. “We can talk about it, but only when you’re ready to talk about it. I’m not going to force you into a conversation you aren’t comfortable having, stupid. We’ve got time.”

Tobio’s startle holds his composure for just a little bit longer, but it isn’t long before Shouyou has to watch the tears build in his eyes once more, and Shouyou brings their foreheads together and stays there. Tobio breaks down again and Shouyou rides is out with him, squeezing his eyes shut to keep his own tears at bay and all the while promising they’re going to be okay.

“I-I just don’t know how to  _ say it—”  _

“It’s okay, you don’t have to.” 

“You-You  _ deserve  _ to know, I just, I don’t know  _ how  _ I should—I don’t know how to tell you, I—”

“You don’t have to, Tobes. It’s okay.” 

“I-I  _ should  _ tell you—” 

“But you aren’t ready to. You don’t have to.”

“You don’t  _ deserve  _ this—”

“If you say that again I’m going to push you off the bed.” 

“But—” 

“Don’t try me, I’ll do it. You know I will.” 

He doesn’t know how many hours they’re up. He doesn’t know when his own composure broke and he cried, too. He doesn’t know  _ when  _ Tobio finally falls asleep, only that he does, and Shouyou hugs him tightly and has to believe his words meant something,  _ changed  _ something. Helped. 

He doesn’t fall asleep until the sun has already risen.

* * *

“So! I have a surprise for you!” 

Tobio looks at him like he just popped out of a cake at a birthday party, after repeatedly telling him not to. Combine that with the sleeplessness of a university student on finals and a retail worker on their final hour of shift. “What.”

“I called out of work for us today!” Shouyou beams like he’d won the lottery, and swings both their phones around like they were the winning tickets. “Your boss actually said his daughter’s getting married—which! Isn’t that cool!? I’m so happy for her!—But yeah, he said they’re keeping the restaurant closed for today so you don’t need to go in! And—get this!—One of my coworkers actually  _ volunteered— _ they  _ volunteered,  _ can you believe that?—they  _ volunteered  _ to take my shift for me today! I didn’t even  _ ask,  _ I just said I have some stuff going on and I could  _ technically  _ come in but it depended on how busy they were and how today went and Tamiko said he would cover for me! What crazy world do we live in, right!?” 

Tobio’s expression and posture don’t change. “I. I caught like. Two words of that, I’m sorry.” 

“Neither of us are going into work today!” 

“Why couldn’t you just.  _ Say that.”  _

“I did!” Shouyou says. Tobio sighs. Shouyou lets his bubbly exterior drop a little. “I dunno, there’s some stuff we can catch up with around the house—we’re behind on laundry, and I can’t remember the last time we vacuumed the carpet—and, y’know, sometimes it’s nice to just spend a day at home. Figured you might need some time to regroup.”

Tobio bites his lip and fidgets again. It’s so unlike him that Shouyou almost instinctively asks what’s wrong. 

“You’re right. Thanks.” 

Shouyou smiles. “No problem.” 

Breakfast comes and goes, and barely thirty minutes into house cleaning, Shouyou has a word for Tobio's behavior. And it's a word that he knows he'll soon come to hate. 

Skittish. 

Like a scared kid in a haunted house. Like a dog expecting to be kicked. Skittish. He jumps when Shouyou comes around the corner, he apologizes when he drops the laundry hamper, he zones out so hard while washing dishes that he shatters a plate and almost has an emotional breakdown. If Shouyou hadn't been there, he doesn't know what would have happened. 

And one of the worst parts is, it's like Tobio doesn't know he's there. It's as though Tobio is living in a mindset where he's alone. He didn't even respond to the first few times Shouyou called his name. 

Skittish. 

He keeps checking his phone, too, and practically hurls it across the room whenever Shouyou asks him what’s up, what he’s waiting for, who he’s talking to. Tobio says it doesn’t matter, and Shouyou doesn’t feel like it’s  _ necessarily  _ a lie, but the whole truth isn’t there either. Shouyou isn’t the type to pry, or to demand Tobio let him search his contact history (because that’s stupid, and he knows Tobio well enough and certainly trusts Tobio with his everything), and Tobio isn’t the type to lie. He doesn’t seem like he’s hiding, he seems like he’s hurting.

Shouyou lets it be, though he does lean into Tobio’s side more often than usual, and he’ll let Tobio rest his head on his chest while he runs his fingers along his scalp, keeping his breathing steady, rhythmic and in line with his heartbeat. 

It’s the position they’re in now, after a full day of straightening and organizing and cleaning. Shouyou lies on the couch with the arm of it cushioning his head, and Tobio’s head is cushioned on Shouyou’s chest, his fingers twisted in Shouyou’s shirt, almost entirely a dead weight. He’s awake, though, and his eyes are open. Shouyou doesn’t search his face (there’s just so  _ much  _ in Tobio’s eyes, so much, and it makes him want to cry just seeing it), and instead traces his fingers along Tobio’s hairline.

Usually this would be the highlight of a long day, and that’s not to say it isn’t comfortable and warm, but there’s a tight, drawn tension in Tobio’s shoulders. His fingers in Shouyou’s shirt are clenched, like his joints are locked in place, and his heartbeat is as erratic and short as his breathing. Shouyou has to keep swallowing down his words, because Tobio doesn’t need to be questioned right now. He needs to be reassured. He needs to be held. He needs to know he’s safe. 

(Safe from what, Shouyou doesn’t have a clue. But he doesn’t have to know yet.)

He keeps playing with Tobio’s hair, curling locks of it around his fingers and gently sweeping through tangles. Most of them are gone by now, though he keeps combing through it anyway. He hums softly, a small, simple melody like something his mom would sing to him, or he would sing to Natsu, or even something Tobio has sang quietly, like a whisper, when Shouyou is sick or stressed or otherwise overwhelmed. 

Shouyou hums something like that, soft and simple and slow, and he doesn’t say anything when tears drip against the front of his shirt, though he does cradle Tobio closer. His shoulders tremble with the sobs caught in the back of his throat, and Shouyou would do anything,  _ anything  _ to take this from him.

“Sh-Shou…” 

“Shh. It’s okay.”

“I—”

Shouyou waits. Tobio hasn’t stopped trembling, but it hasn’t gotten worse. His breathing, however,  _ has  _ gotten worse, and is shorter and sharper now than ever before.

“Are you okay?” It’s a stupid question, but a grounding one. He doesn’t get a response. His hands find Tobio’s shoulders, squeezing and tugging. “Hey. Hey, Tobio. Tobes. Tobes, look at me.” 

Shouyou tries to push him upright but Tobio turns his face into Shouyou’s chest instead, clutching his shirt so tightly that his nails rake against Shouyou’s skin and dig in uncomfortable places. Shouyou doesn’t let go. 

“Tobio.  _ Kageyama.”  _

Tobio muffles something into his shirt. Shouyou can’t tell what’s muffling it worse—his tears or the fact that his face is smushed against Shouyou. Shouyou shakes him, and ignores the sudden gallop of his heart and the tears behind his eyes. Tobio doesn’t need him to cry right now. Tobio needs him to be steady.

“Stupid, why are you apologizing again? No, don’t answer that, just—” Shouyou drags his fingers through Tobio’s hair and curls it around his knuckles, tugging carefully. “Tell me what to do. Can I help you? How do I help you?”  _ What’s hurting you? How can I stop it? Tell me how to stop it, please, I have to stop it— _

“My parents.” Tobio’s voice is thick, and surprisingly steady. At first. Shouyou’s hand in his hair stills. “They—Th-They started contacting me ag—”

Something in the air shifts. Tobio shoves himself out of Shouyou’s arms, and before Shouyou can even realize what’s happened, Tobio’s footsteps are distant and the bathroom door is thrown open. 

“Tobio—!” Shouyou leaps off the couch and races after him, heart thrumming in his ears. ‘Tobio—” 

Shouyou swings himself into the bathroom around the same time Tobio throws up.

Tobio doesn’t get sick. Shouyou has seen him sick  _ just  _ a handful of times, and it’s never more than an overnight bug or a pesky headcold or fever. He’s never had the stomach flu. He’s never had a weak immune system. He’s always the one taking care of Shouyou, and still the only person Shouyou knows who can say  _ ‘I won’t get sick’  _ and then follow it through by actually not getting sick.

Tobio retches again, a sound just as painful and guttural as his sobs, and Shouyou’s heart twists into a fetal position. “Tobio…”

He reaches for the lightswitch, because Tobio either forgot to turn it on or he didn’t have time (most likely the latter), but he’s barely had the thought before Tobio is reacting. 

_ “D-Don’t,”  _ Tobio chokes, sounding like he’d just been strangled with a wire. “Don’t turn it on, d-don’t—” 

“I won’t, I won’t, promise.” Shouyou kneels beside him on the floor. Even without the light, his eyes have adjusted, and he winds his arms around Tobio’s stomach. “Does your head hurt?”

_ “No,  _ I-I just don’t—” Tobio gags, Shouyou squeezes him tighter, but he doesn’t throw up again. “I-I don’t want you to—s-see.”

Shouyou’s heart does that thing again, and he rests his head in between Tobio’s shoulder blades. “God, Tobio… do you still think you need to be all ‘Mr. Invincible’ when I’m here? It’s just me, Tobio—” 

“It’s  _ because  _ it’s you that—” Tobio starts, but stops, and Shouyou can’t tell if it’s because bile or tears. “I didn’t want you to s-see this.” 

Shouyou thinks it’s stupid, but to say he doesn’t understand would be a lie. He falls into the same thing in a vice versa sorta way. He doesn’t want Tobio to see him at his most vulnerable, even though Tobio most certainly has and Shouyou isn’t proving anything by avoiding him, just postponing the inevitable. And he knows Tobio knows that, too, deep down. But it’s hard to connect what you know with what you feel when your physical and emotional states have been compromised. 

Tobio’s state of mind and being have definitely been hurt, proof by the sobs in his throat and the way his back heaves against Shouyou’s head, and Shouyou waits no longer than absolutely necessary before acting. 

“Are you going to throw up again, do you think?” 

Tobio breathes raggedly for a while longer before he shakes his head. Shouyou pulls back, but not entirely away, and he takes Tobio by the shoulders and turns him, gently, until they’re facing each other. It  _ is  _ still dark, and Tobio’s face isn’t as clear as Shouyou would like it, but his tears are clear. And the shame is, too. And the guilt. He barely meets Shouyou’s eyes before his head is ducked and he’s apologizing again.

Shouyou frames Tobio’s face with his hands and thumbs away his tears. “Don’t shoulder the blame for stuff that isn’t your fault,” he says. “I love you too much to let you do that to yourself.”

Tobio meets his gaze again, but only for a moment, and he tries wiping away his own tears when they fall. Shouyou waits long enough to test the waters, but then he’s had enough of waiting, and coils his arms around Tobio’s shoulders to pull him near. 

“Come here, c’mere, it’s okay. It’s okay.” Tobio’s head thuds against his chest, hands holding his face. Shouyou leans his cheek into the back of Tobio’s neck and runs one hand up and down Tobio’s spine, the other cupping the base of his head. “It’s okay. M’here. I’ve gotcha. You’re safe.”

He doesn’t know what possessed him to tack on that last part, because Tobio hasn’t expressed (with words) that he feels  _ un _ safe at all. But the promise undoes Tobio entirely, and he dissolves against Shouyou’s hold until his head digs into Shouyou’s stomach and his nails clutch at the hem of Shouyou’s shirt. His back heaves and his tears are thick and hot, soaking everything they touch, and Shouyou folds himself over him, still promising, still holding. He wishes he could shield Tobio entirely. Wishes he could make the world disappear long enough for him to rest. Sleep. Breathe.

Whatever drove Tobio to feel this way is going to pay, and that’s a promise Shouyou makes silently to himself, all the while hushing and whispering soothing nothings to Tobio in the hopes that something—anything—will reach him and stick long enough to give him some peace.

“M-My parents—” Tobio croaks, still muffled and broken. “They—Th-They want to r-reconnect or— _ s-something,  _ th-they keep—”

Tobio doesn’t talk about his family, he never has. The only thing Shouyou’s ever garnered is that he’s an only child, and also that he and his parents were never close. There was always hostility in his tone so Shouyou never pressed it; besides, it was one of those personal things that Tobio could tell him if he wanted, but there was enough distance between Tobio and his parents that it didn’t really matter anyway.

“We don’t have to talk about it now,” Shouyou promises, and ignores the selfish part of him that wants Tobio to keep talking, just so he knows what’s going on. “You’re—you’re having a panic attack. We don’t need to talk about it now.” 

Tobio shakes his head, but doesn’t lift it. The movement is stuttered and jerky. “I-I  _ can’t—”  _ He sucks in a breath, heaves it out and clutches Shouyou’s sides. “—I can’t  _ d-do  _ it anymore, Shouyou, I don’t know how to do it anymore—”

“You’re doing fine,” Shouyou promises. “You’re doing fine, okay?”

It falls on deaf ears. Tobio clutches at him tighter, to the point that it almost hurts. “I-I can’t keep it— _ Shouyou,  _ I, I can’t keep hiding it from you—”

“You aren’t hiding anything,” Shouyou says, and he tries to ignore the very deep, gut-wrenched feeling in his chest. Tobio has always been a pillar in Shouyou’s life, and the vice versa has always been there too but of the two of them, Tobio is easily the more level-headed. He’s a better thinker, he knows how to handle situations better than Shouyou, and he’s been better with his temper, too, not letting it influence his decisions. This is another side of Tobio that Shouyou hasn’t seen before—this desperate fight to breathe, the way he chokes around his sobs before sobbing harder, the tears that keep soaking the front of his shirt and everywhere else they touch. Shouyou, in the back of his mind, has begun to piece together why, but that doesn’t abate the fact that he doesn’t know how to  _ fix this.  _

“You aren’t hiding anything,” Shouyou repeats, softer. “You aren’t hiding.”

“I can’t  _ see them,  _ Shou, I  _ can’t—”  _

“You won’t. You don’t have to.” 

“Th-They won’t stop, they won’t leave me  _ alone,  _ I don’t know what to  _ do—”  _

“If they won’t leave you alone, I’ll make them,” Shouyou says, and this time he lets the bite seep into his tone, and he holds Tobio closer, tighter. “I swear I’ll make them. And if they say otherwise, they can die mad about it. It doesn’t sound like they do, but I love you. I love you so much.”

Tobio  _ shatters. _

Everything comes boiling to the surface, just like Shouyou knew it eventually would, but nothing could have prepared him for the impact. Tobio’s tears punctuate every tumbled word and Shouyou feels like there are waves crashing over his head, clogging his ears and stuffing his throat, as realization upon realization slams into him from all sides. Tobio’s voice becomes gradually hoarser through it, and he keeps forgetting to breathe and Shouyou keeps forgetting to remind him because he can’t breathe, either. Each revelation is as good as asphyxiation. Shouyou doesn’t catch everything—he  _ can’t,  _ not mentally, not physically—but he catches enough. It’s enough to make sense. It’s enough to make his blood curdle. And it all connects with Tobio’s  _ now  _ so seamlessly that Shouyou almost can’t stomach it.

Tobio doesn’t like storms because he was locked outside his house during one to ‘teach him a lesson.’ He prefers cold beverages because he had hot tea thrown at him when he was four (he was  _ four).  _ Every now and then he can’t drive their car because he was stabbed in the leg with a car key. He’s so sensitive to Shouyou’s gentle, soothing touch against his scalp because he used to get dragged around by his hair. He doesn’t like leaving doors open, even when he’s home alone, because open doors without locks meant he had nowhere to hide.

That’s only what Shouyou  _ catches.  _

Tobio ends up throwing up again (in the toilet, thankfully, though Shouyou wouldn’t have cared if it’d been all over him) and that’s about all either of them can take. Tobio collapses into Shouyou’s arms, crumpling like sopping cardboard and Shouyou can do nothing more than hold him and promise.

“I love you, I love you so much, Tobio, they’re never going to touch you again, I love you, they don’t deserve you,  _ god,  _ Tobio, I love you, I  _ love you—” _

“I love you t—” It’s broken off by a desperate, heaving inhale but Shouyou doesn’t care. It’s the most response he’s gotten from Tobio in a while. He just folds himself around his partner again and maps him out with his hands, tracing over his skin with gentle touches and light fingers. Tobio gasps wildly for a long, long while after that, lungs deprived and body spent. It’s all Shouyou can do just to touch him and tell him he’s safe, he’s loved, and Shouyou is never going to let anyone hurt him again.

* * *

Tobio is too out of it to walk and Shouyou isn’t nearly big enough to carry him, so they end up camped out on the bathroom floor, which isn’t nearly as uncomfortable as it would be if you weren’t bone-tired and so deeply exhausted that even thinking was beyond you. Shouyou wrapped a towel around Tobio, which would be silly any other day, but now it’s just him making do with what they have, considering Tobio is sprawled in his lap, entirely dead to the world and their blankets aren’t within grabbing distance like the towels were. 

Tobio looks peaceful now at least, sleeping soundly. His hair is a bedraggled, tangled mess, and the streaky tracks of tears trail all the way from his cheeks down his neck to dampen the collar of his t-shirt, and his face is both flushed and pale, but the pained lines and creases are smoothed out for now, for the first time in a while, and even small victories are victories.

Shouyou bites back a yawn, and he tells himself that he doesn’t deserve to feel tired when Tobio is this down and out, but he knows that isn’t fair to himself either. His exhaustion is dampened slightly by the seething, burning adrenaline in his blood, the kind that makes him want to punch a wall, but Tobio needs him more than his parents need to be taught a lesson. Shouyou can’t convince them to change with his fists, but he can convince Tobio that he’s safe with his presence. And until he actually meets the bastards, that’s what he’ll be doing.


End file.
